around for another set of chocks, I damn near took her head off with

the lift blades. If the manager had seen her there that close to me

I'd have lost the job then and there. I turned the thing off and

climbed off it.

"They fire you for disemboweling a customer."

"What customer? I'm your cousin from New Paltz. Your aunt my mother-

is over at the house and probably she's dying. Her last wish is to see

her sister and her favorite nephew. You've got the day off. It's all

fixed. I didn't even have to ask for it."

"Huh?"

"He said I could tell you just to go home for the day."

"You assume a lot, you know that?"

"Sure I do. You mad at me?"

The way she asked me, it was a serious question, nothing coy about it.

If I thought she'd gone too far, then she wanted to know. I liked

that. Even though I had the feeling that my answer was not going to

make or break her afternoon either way.

"I'm not mad. It's too hot for this stuff anyway. Let's go."

We walked through the store and I said thanks to Mr. McGregor, and I

was glad he was with a customer just then, because I could see Kim and

Steven right out front sitting in the Chevy, waiting for us with the

top down. A suspicious-looking bunch of New Paltz cousins.

"Clan Thomas, Steven Lynch and Kimberley Palmer."

"Kimberley."

She wiped her hand on her shorts, a nervous, birdlike movement. Then

she held it out to me and I took it. It was tiny and delicate, and

very smooth and dry.

Steven smiled at me and nodded and gave me a slightly too-firm

handshake. We got into the car. It was a tight squeeze. I glanced

back over my shoulder at Mr. McGregor.

"Could we get out of here, please? Fast?"

"Sure thing."

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